


A Slow and Steady Rush

by godots



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Times, Live Music, M/M, growing up up north, harry blossoms like the proverbial sex flower, the mortifiying ordeal of being a teenager, vulnerability and intimacy and figuring it out for the first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23988187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godots/pseuds/godots
Summary: Harry is the only other person waiting around out front who isn’t part of a group and Louis ends up chatting with him while they wait, leaning up against the wall of the venue. They hit it off, as they say.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 31
Kudos: 98





	A Slow and Steady Rush

**Author's Note:**

> I started this back in October, but then lots of shitty bad things happened in the world and I didn’t feel like writing. Happily that feeling passed and I got to enjoy writing this little trip through the vulnerability of wanting and first times and walk of shames and the freedom and rush of youth and living weekend to weekend, planning only as far forward as your next gig. Here’s to happier, freer times again soon.

Louis can drive already he just doesn’t have a car is the thing and Stan hasn’t passed his test yet so they’re getting the train over to the gig tonight. Which is fine really anyways because this way they can drink if they want. 

Sometimes gigs are the kind where you are there for every single song. Those ones you turn up two hours before doors to queue and push forward to get barrier and forgo breathing or peeing for four hours because you’ve waited for this for literally months, memorised the setlist in advance even, and you’re not prepared to miss a minute of it. 

He won’t lie though, not every gig is some kind of life-changing religious event. Sometimes it turns out the band are shite live or the crowd is kind of a letdown but at least then you can get a bit smashed and let the tunes wash over you and let loose for an hour or two. 

Manchester is a bit of a pain in the arse to get to but for some reason that’s where all the bands go, what’s even up with that? British bands usually play shows in Sheffield at least which is closer to home but American bands apparently think the only three cities in the UK are London, Manchester and Glasgow so here he is skiving off college three hours early so he can get over to Manchester in time for doors opening at 7. 

Stan gets on the train with a plastic bag full of crisps and red bull. And because it’s not a proper train journey without a cheeky bevy Louis' brought a bottle of coke that’s half vodka. The red bull and the crisps are polished off first while Louis has a moan about how they got absolutely shafted by Oldham last night and then they spend the rest of the journey passing the coke bottle back and forth and talking shite. 

By the time they get off the train and onto the street it’s already getting dark out and Louis has a bit of a buzz on. Less because of the drink and more because he just loves a gig. There’s something about standing in massive crowd of people in the dark with music shaking the floor that gets his heart pounding like nothing else. Getting to the venue and joining the long queue of people outside, half way up the street and all huddled against the wind, has him buzzing. He’s always buzzing these days. Anticipation, restlessness, horniness…just building endlessly inside him until his veins are fizzing with it, with the need to do  _ something. _ That’s why he goes to as many gigs as he can afford to, he can’t get enough of the way it makes him feel. 

There’s a ritual to it, to standing outside in the shite weather, freezing your arse off and wishing they would just hurry up and open the doors already. The relief when the queue finally starts moving, the wash of anticipation as the empty hollow of the venue fills up around you with bodies and voices and heat and energy. Individual component parts that come together to become a crowd. And finally,  _ finally _ after standing and doing nothing but waiting finally the lights go down and the crowd roars. 

He loses Stan to the chaos of bodies during the first mad surge forwards towards the stage as the lights come up on the headliners and Louis gives himself over to being crushed by the weight of the crowd, fighting to keep his footing and shouting the words back at the stage with everyone else in the room. There’s nothing else like it. Four straight songs one after another open the show and the crowd is heaving, like they want to get as physically close to the music as possible. When the lead singer finally breaks to speak to the crowd after the fourth song Louis tries to catch his breath and looks through the mass of arms and shoulders for a sign of Stan but no luck. It’s a short pause:  _ Hi Manchester, you’re looking good, it’s great to be back. _ The bass-line starts in on the next song and the crowd swells up with the music and Louis moves with the rest of the room. 

There’s something vulnerable but safe in a crowd. You open yourself up enough to scream, right there in front of the stage you shout the words until your throat aches, one of a thousand voices shouting the same words to the same beat. A couple thousand kids looking up with eyes bright and mouths wide, their own kind of worship in a loud dark room. 

Louis doesn’t really see what happens but in between one song and the next there’s a push and pull in the crowd and someone next to him goes down. Louis and the girl in front of him help the guy up. The crowd has already moved forward to swallow up the space so Louis pushes back to make room for him again. Once the guy is back on his feet the crowd melts back together again into one writhing mass, the band plays on. 

At the end after the last song, the chanting  _ (one-last-song-one-last-song) _ , and the encore and then the actual real  _ proper _ last song, the lights finally come up and Louis stumbles out and into the street. Soaked to the skin in sweat, most of it other peoples, and absolutely shattered. He’s going to be freezing in a minute but right now the chilly breeze is bliss, and he leaves his jumper off while he stands around waiting for Stan to make his way out.

And that’s how he meets Harry. Stan gets waylaid at the merch tables or in the toilets or some nonsense and Louis ends up standing around outside for absolutely ages. Harry is the only other person waiting around out front who isn’t part of a group and Louis ends up chatting with him while they wait, leaning up against the wall of the venue. He’s only 16, he can’t drive yet so his mum dropped him off and is coming back to get him he says, sleeves pulled down over his hands and shoulders a little hunched. 

They hit it off, as they say. 

-|-

Harry gets it. He understands time measured in the space between gigs and festivals and parties. He loves music the way Louis does, the way that it’s worth spending all your money on or travelling for hours to get to. He goes to gigs by himself because none of his mates back home are into the same stuff he is, which is kind of everything really. Harry doesn’t seem to have heard about guilty pleasures, if he loves something he just loves it. 

Louis is used to going off by himself on a Saturday night, full of energy and desperate for something to do, but now there’s Harry messaging him on facebook, or sending him links to youtube videos or newgrounds games. They don’t live close, it’s not like they can actually hang out much, but somehow the conversation never dies out. They text all the time, Louis doesn’t even know what they text about, just a meandering endless back and forth between classes and under the desk in lessons and when he’s waiting around for his sisters to come out of their netball club and when he’s hanging around the house with nothing else to do. 

There’s not much to do on the weekends, nothing really happens in town and he doesn’t want to spend his entire student bursary on overpriced drinks so instead him and his mates usually end up buying drink in Tesco and hanging out at someone’s house. There’s absolutely no way Louis could have anyone round his so they go to one of the other lad’s. 

When a girl at college who was in his year at school has a big house party for her birthday they crash that. We’ll it’s not really crashing, they do know her kind of, her name’s Rachel. Louis used to sit next to her in English in 3rd year. She had transferred schools and didn’t have  that many friends for some reason and he used to talk to her quite a bit back then. So when he says he crashed her party he means that he found out that she was having one and brought it up to her when they were both waiting to use the vendy at lunch. 

“Chancing for an invite Tommo?” 

“Yeah pretty much” 

She laughs and tells him he’s welcome even though he’s basically just invited himself. 

“Are you bringing drink?” 

“Yeah yeah, tell me what you want and I’ll get some for you if you like.” She’s only 17 still because she skipped a year when she was younger. It feels a bit weird that they were good enough friends before for him to know that, he hasn’t spoken to her in over a year now. 

The whole thing was pretty weird when he thinks about it. They were really friendly for a while and then they kind of dated? Kind of? It was super weird because they never like… talked about it but they hung out a lot at school and went to the cinema sometimes, which turned into going over to her bit on a Saturday when her mum was at work. He used to go over to hers around 11am and they’d sit on her bed watching stand up comedy DVDs for hours. Which like…is a completely platonic friend thing to do but sometimes they’d end up stretched out on her bed and she’d lie on his chest or he’d put his arm around her so she could snuggle in.

In hindsight she probably wanted something to happen between them. It didn’t obviously, and they ended up drifting into completely separate friend groups. They don’t really talk now but he still sees her around. Over the last year she’s been busy learning how to do her makeup and hair all professional-like. She’s a lot more popular with other girls these days, her MSN Messenger screen name has lyrics like  _ “You were such a P.Y.T catching all the lights”. _ He notices it on the night of the party as well, it’s a fun night and all her mates are a good laugh as well but she’s so different to the shy New Girl she was when they hung out. Maybe it’s not just Rachel that’s changed though, maybe this is just growing up and stuff. 

It’s not really something Louis likes to think about if he’s honest. Growing up and planning his life out or whatever. He doesn’t want to worry anyone but he’s lowkey concerned this college/uni plan isn’t going to work out. He’s not even sure he knows what he wants to do at uni, if he even wants to go really. He just can’t picture himself there. He doesn’t like thinking about it much to be honest. 

He’s glad he’s got Harry to natter on to when he’s got nowt else on. He can text him any nonsense that comes into his head and Harry always texts back. It's the only thing that gets him through his shitty classes some days. He’ll worry about uni or whatever later. In the meanwhile he's just living weekend to weekend, gig to gig. Nothing feels like sweating along to music in a hot dark room does. They arrange to meet up in Manchester for other gigs when they can get transport and have the money which isn’t _a lot_ but it is pretty cool the times they can both manage it and once or twice Louis knows a friend of a friend who's flat they can crash at in Sheffield or Manchester. 

-|-

Steph sends out a group text saying she’s got an empty on Friday, her dad’s flat in Manchester. _champion!_ Louis sends back and immediately texts Harry to convince him to come. 

-|-

That’s how Harry ends up drinking terrible cheap red wine in someone’s friend’s dad’s kitchen. The wine really is cheap and it’s really terrible but someone offered it to him and he took it because honestly he doesn’t know what anything tastes like but his mum and dad drink this in the house so at least it’s recognisable. It tastes like leather and it makes his tongue feel dry. He sits at the table and tries to act like he drinks wine all the time and this isn’t literally the first time ever while people he doesn’t know gossip about other people he also doesn’t know. 

“D’ya hear? Aimee gave one of Danny’s mates a handy in the toilet last night at Studio.” 

The girl that had poured Harry the wine sprays her drink over the table. “What?” Someone laughs and slaps a hand on the table and the kitchen gets rowdy. “Danny! DANNY get in here is this true!?” 

A skinny tall guy appears at the table midst shrieks and laughter.

“Is it true?” 

“Who was it??”

“Oh my god didn’t you pump her at Leeds last year an all!” 

“Don’t be such a tit Kirky!” Danny, presumably, but he doesn’t seem perturbed at the accusations of the wider kitchen assembly. 

“What? It’s true! You literally told me that it happened!” 

“You filthy bastard Danno!” More laughter, more drinking. Harry works on his wine and it’s probably working because he doesn’t feel as awkward as he thought he would at a party full of Louis' mates. He’s not sure whose flat this is. The girl messing around with the music playlist on the computer maybe? 

“Ey up lad, not seen you in a while!” Louis slaps Danny on the shoulder as he comes into the kitchen and slips into the seat on Harry’s other side. 

“Having fun?” Louis asks him, nicking a mouthful of wine. He makes a face. “God that’s vile take it back.” The wine glass is pushed back into his hand and Louis gets up to grab a tin of Carlsberg out of a carrier bag in the fridge then reclaims the seat next to Harry before anyone else decides to take it. The people/chair ratio at this party is not great. 

Harry has been doing his best not to follow Louis around like a lost puppy since they turned up tonight. He might not know anyone here but he’s friendly, he can make friends, and he doesn’t want Louis to think he has to babysit him. The thing is though that Louis is always the funniest person in any room so Harry always wants to be where he is anyways. It’s not that he can’t make his own friends, it’s just that Louis is more interesting. It’s so entertaining just watching him talk, hands gesturing over the table looking chuffed with himself when he makes everyone laugh. Harry pours himself more wine from the bottle left open on the table and takes another sip. His lips taste like wine. He’s getting used to it, it doesn’t taste nearly as bad as the first leathery mouthfuls. Louis is kind of dainty sometimes. Harry is in that clumsy teenage phase, has to grow into his full height still, but Louis probably isn’t going to get any taller. Narrow shoulders and soft wrists. 

He’s pretty much tuned out of the conversation but he notices when Louis stretches his arm out and drops it along the back of his chair mid-telling of a story about something, knocking his beer against Harry’s shoulder. It’s probably the wine getting to him but sitting here getting wine drunk in someone’s kitchen with Louis, he feels like he’s won something, there’s a warm full happiness in his chest that he wants to hold on to. 

-|-

More people come, more drinks are poured and the party spills out from the kitchen into the hallway and the living room. Steph’s dad’s flat has two bedrooms but she makes it extremely clear early on in the night that no one except her and her boyfriend are allowed to sleep in the master bedroom. Which is kind of weird because they’re obviously just saying that so they can have privacy and they obviously just want privacy so they can shag but that means they’re going to shag in her dad’s bed. Which is really weird. 

“It’s weird, right Harry?” 

“Uhh, what’s weird? Yeah?” Harry’s eyes are bright and kind of glazed. He’s drinking red wine for some god-awful reason and Louis is pretty sure Harry has never drunk wine before so he’s almost definitely going to hate himself for it in the morning if not before. There’s a stain on the coffee table where he’s spilled a bit. It’s…Louis likes seeing Harry loose and fuzzy and drunk for probably only the second or third time ever. He’s a bubbly laughing drunk, a little bit loud but the night is at that stage where everyone is speaking with their drunk voices so it’s fine. 

“What, Lou come on. Come on tell me!” He’s forgotten what he was talking about, Harry has no clue either but he’s leaning into Louis, eyes wide and cheeks red, his voice reaching a whine. 

“What’s going on here then?” An arm sneaks around Harry’s waist and Michelle lowers herself down less than gracefully into the space between Harry and the edge of the couch. 

“M’just sayin right,” Louis starts trying to explain again, “about Steph and Fausty sharing ‘er dad’s bed tonight. ‘S a bit weird ‘aving your boyfriend over to sleep in your dad’s bed. That’s all I’m saying, that’s all I’m saying.” Michelle makes a face and throws something, a bottle cap, at him. “Ew gross Louis why.” 

He holds his palms up to say he’s made his point. Reaching over he grabs his beer and when he takes a swig he finds it already empty. When did that happen? 

He looks over at Harry and almost laughs, he looks so awkward right now. Michelle is curved into his side but he’s sitting unnaturally stiff next to her. He has an arm looped around her waist to help keep her on the couch but his hand is in a loose fist at her side instead of actually touching her. 

It’s all so very first high school party that Louis has an actual flashback to being at the first house party he ever got invited to where Lauren P from the year above ended up sitting on his lap somehow. He was probably just as drunk and obvious and painfully awkward as Harry is right now. He cringes thinking back on how cool 15 year old Louis had thought he was, god everyone probably knew how much of a massive lightweight he was. That he wasn’t used to drinking and didn’t have a clue what to do when a girl sits on your lap. He thinks he ignored her actually. Oh god he did. Didn’t know what to say so he just didn’t say anything and then eventually asked her to move because his legs were going numb. Jesus fuck. Why did his brain have to bring that back up? And because mortifying teenage memories need to be repressed it’s time for more booze. 

They get more drinks from the kitchen and more folk join them around the couch. Someone has put the TV on, one of those phone-in quiz shows. A busty blonde host with a fresh degree in Film and TV studies from Bournemouth and a determination to prove herself to ITV is flirting her way into the late night punters wallets but no one is paying attention. The coffee table is sticky; littered with crushed cans, half empty glasses and a little saucer plate serving as an overflowing ashtray. 

A group of Steph’s friends nip out to the offy down the road and when they come back with spirits and mixers the table is cleared for a game of waterfall to be set up. Louis plays but Harry doesn’t and somewhere around the second time someone flips over an ace he loses track of Harry completely. Louis gets a King,  _ make a new rule  _ so he decides on the little man because it’s a classic. Michelle gets the next king and declares  _ take a drink every time you swear _ as the next rule which leaves Louis buggered because he’s already half cut and he swears like fuck when he’s drunk. He gleefully gets her back every time she drinks without taking the little man off her glass which is almost every time. 

The booze catches up to him around two in the morning by which point he’s migrated to the sitting on the floor in front of the open window between Michelle and Danny. There’s a pack of fags and a lighter on the carpet between them and proper chilly breeze coming in through the window. Some dickhead shouts at them to shut the window and Michelle tells them to get fucked but Louis is starting to feel kind of woozy so he gets up anyways and gravitates back towards the people on the couch. 

There’s a conversation happening, someone shouts and there’s laughing and someone else leans over his legs to reach their drink on the table. He’s a bit fuzzy and he doesn’t catch the joke but he laughs anyways. There is a pint glass of what looks like water on the table so he picks it up and takes a suspicious sniff then a tiny sip before deeming it safe to drink. A half arsed game of Never Have I Ever starts up but he’s pretty much done for the night so he tips his head back onto the couch and works his way through the glass of water instead. 

By three-ish some mates of Steph’s are leaving and Louis sees Harry through the door seeing them off like he isn’t a random friend of a friend of someone that knows the host, as if they didn’t just meet for the first time six hours ago. He’s so easygoing with people in every situation. Louis' sociable yeah, but Harry doesn’t even need to be drinking to start chatting away to strangers like they’re already mates. It’s like people can’t help but be charmed by him. It’s not really surprising, he’s all sweet smiles and ridiculous jokes and he might be not even 17 yet but he’s got an easy confidence about him. 

The party falls apart soon after that and people either head out or find a place to crash. The flat is absolutely freezing but no one can work out how to switch on the heating and Steph is either passed out or getting shagged because she doesn’t reply when they rap on the bedroom door so it ends up with everyone giving up and trying to get some sleep, shivering against the chill. Michelle, Danny, Mike and Ems are crammed onto the sofa-turned-pull-out-bed in the living room and Louis and Harry end up in the bed in the spare room fully dressed under the covers, duvet pulled up to their necks. 

If Louis had kept drinking he would have passed out and not been able to feel the cold. As it is he’s uncomfortably awake and freezing and bloody hell it might actually be cold enough to see your breath in here. He wraps himself as much as he can in the duvet. Harry is restless next to him, moving around in the dark and pulling the covers away to let the cold air in. Louis slaps at the other side of the duvet blindly. “Oi quit it!” 

“Sorry, can’t sleep. Feel dizzy.” The words come clumsy and slow. 

“Are you gonna spew?” 

He’s quiet for a minute. “No, don’t think so. Just can’t sleep though.” He feels Harry turn over in the dark and then turn over again, he lets out a breath and pushes the covers back so he can sit up and Louis presses his head into the pillow in exhaustion before sitting up as well. If Harry is going to spew he’d better try and get him to the toilet at least. 

Harry’s teeth are chattering. Louis gets the bedside lamp switched on and has a look at him. He looks miserable, hair greasy and wild where he’s been running his hands through it constantly and he’s only wearing a t-shirt. “Where’s your jumper though?” 

“Dunno” 

Louis runs a hand over his face and then swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Alright drunky, lets get you some water.” 

The cold seeps through his socks as he fills a pint glass up from the kitchen tap, he didn’t turn the light on but there’s enough light from the hall to see what he’s doing. The first glass he pours he drinks himself. Stands in front of the sink and chugs it until his throat feels icy from the cold. Once the glass is empty he runs the tap again and pours another full glass to take back to the bedroom with him. 

When he gets back to the room the covers are pushed back and Harry isn’t there. The bathroom door is pulled-to but not closed, he taps on it quietly. 

“You being sick?” 

There’s no reply for a minute and then the toilet flushes before Harry speaks. 

“No.” Harry’s reply is muffled and Louis isn’t convinced. He doesn’t fancy being in the room with someone spewing, the smell always makes him sick as well and he contemplates just leaving the glass on the floor. 

“Lou?” Harry’s voice is clearer this time. “Can you get me some water please?” So polite, and so  _ so  _ sloshed. He clears his throat. “Yeah course I’ve got it ‘ere, I’m coming in okay?” 

Pushing the door open fully he comes and crouches down by where Harry is kneeling next to the toilet. Head pillowed on one arm disgustingly close to the toilet bowl. Harry sits up when he comes in and takes the glass from him groggily, leaning back against the bath so he can take slow little sips, pausing in between. Louis watches him, shivering a bit and wanting to get back under the duvet. It doesn’t smell like he’s been sick. 

Louis waits with him, sitting on the floor which is a bit manky, pulling his sleeves down over his hands and burrowing into his hoodie against the cold. Harry keeps working on the water and Louis starts to drift off with his eyes open. He’s still drunk and everything feels a little unreal and displaced in time. 

Once he’s managed half the water Louis gave him Harry decides he’s feeling okay enough to get off the bathroom floor and they shuffle back to the spare room. The covers have lost all of the warmth they had before and Louis is so tired he can’t stop shivering and the cold feels bone-deep. 

He feels around on the floor until he finds Harry’s hoodie and makes him put it on and then they huddle under the duvet, pressed into each other’s side for as much body heat as possible, shivering and teeth chattering and nowhere near able to sleep. 

“M’so fucking freezing.” Harry complains and Louis wraps an arm around him in a cuddle, runs his hand up and down his back to try and create some warmth. Harry burrows into him and Louis has to push some of his hair out the way so it stops tickling his face. “You feeling better?” He doesn’t want to remind him about not feeling well but he’s started to look a bit more with it and his speech is less slurred. “Yeah a bit” comes Harry’s quiet reply, “I hate that thing when the room spins.” 

“Yeah it’s the worst. Last time I was that drunk I threw up on my mum’s rug and she went rage at me.” Louis laughs at the memory but Harry groans, “Ugh I can’t even think about it, talk about summit else” he pleads. Louis rubs his back gently, “sorry” he whispers bussing a quick dry press of lips to his forehead and resting his mouth against Harry’s clammy temple. 

There’s pretty much no chance he’s going to get any sleep tonight but he doesn’t really care, he can sleep tomorrow when he gets home. As Harry starts to sober up the miserable tense energy finally leaves him and they get through the rest of the early morning hours talking quietly in the dark until their voices are scratchy and hoarse. By the time the sky has started to bleed into an inky dark blue Louis has completely sobered up and there’s a deep pull of contentment tugging at him. Even though it’s freezing and they are smelly and exhausted and he has like an hour long bus ride to get home, this has been a good night this has. 

He’s not sure how him and Harry happened to each other but he’s glad. He can’t get enough of the connection they have, of how they don’t get sick of each other. It’s brilliant this, being able to talk about nowt for hours on end and not get bored. It just feels like a lot, what he has with Harry. He’s pretty sure it’s not that easy to find someone you get on like this with. He thinks about it while they lie there as Harry sobers up, curled on his side with Louis tucked against his back and speaking into his shoulder blade. Harry’s voice is totally wrecked from mixing wine and vodka and god knows what else and a whole night talking, Louis loves the sound of it. Asks him question after question to hear it rasp and crack. 

While he talks Harry has been running his hand up and down Louis’ arm. Stroking the tips of his fingers over and over the back of his hand so softly they are barely touching, it’s hypnotic-like. It’s just Harry’s index finger now, barely there, tracing up the back of his hand over the middle knuckle and up the back of his middle finger and back down, the hairs on Louis’ arms are standing on end, his palms are tingling. He gives Harry’s waist a squeeze, nudges his knee into the back of Harry’s, closes his eyes when Harry presses back into it. 

-|-

Eventually, somehow, it all comes together. After literally months of pleading Harry finally gets his mum to agree on him going to spend the weekend at Louis’ house. Louis gets the impression that Harry has been lying to his mum on the times he’s come out with Louis and his mates, told her he was hanging out with folk from school so she didn’t worry or ban him from going out. He doesn’t really know what Harry has told her about them hanging out but it takes yonks for her to allow Harry visit for the weekend so it probably wasn’t the truth. 

Louis’ mum is totally fine with it right up until Harry gets there. Louis picks him up from the train station and they get back to the house around dinner time. No one has eaten yet and Louis doesn’t fancy cooking so they ask for everyone’s chippy order and Louis says Harry and him will walk up to the shop and get it. Harry nips to the loo before they go and his mum calls him into her room. 

She’s counting out money when he walks in, purse open on the bed. 

“Mum it’s fine I’ve got money.” 

“Shushed, you take this and make sure you get something for everybody.” He accepts the thirty quid and tucks it into his back pocket, “ta, you didn’t have to”, he leans down and gives her a kiss on the cheek. 

“Listen I’ll make the couch up for Harry if you find some pillows for him?” 

“Nah it’s fine he can just crash in my room for the night don’t worry about it” he says pulling a face. She frowns and he rolls his eyes a bit. “Mum seriously it’s fine, you don’t need to bother.” 

Her eyes flick away from his, her mouth a flat line. “Just be careful all right? If it was a girl then I wouldn’t be letting you have sleepovers.” 

“What?” 

“I’m just saying, he’s only sixteen so be careful okay?” Louis’ stomach twists into a sick knot, he can’t tell what expression is on his face. “What? We’re just gonna play xbox for ages, it’s not like we’re drinking or anything.” His head feels like it’s filled with static. She gives him a look like she’s got more to say and feels like he’s outside of his body for a minute but thankfully _thankfully_ she lets it go. “Get us a fish supper will you?” He nods and gives her a kiss on the cheek bye before heading back downstairs to find Harry waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He blows past him, grabbing his coat off the banister and hustling them out the door. Harry stumbles to catch up, jogging down the front path behind him. 

“Jesus, slow down a minute.”

“Come on, keep up lazy”

“Seriously Lou. ‘sake, you could have warned me we were leaving right then.” 

“Alright sorry, no need to get narky!”

“I don’t even have my coat on.”

“You’ll be fine, chippy’s just over the road here. We’ll only be five minutes. Come on lets get some scran!” 

-|-

He thinks about it on and off all night, like tonguing at a mouth ulcer, he keeps going back to it and worrying at it. It’s left a slimy feeling on him, like he needs a shower. Mostly he’s weirded out that his mum made such a big deal out of it, or maybe he’s grossed out that she’s thinking that about him. Or, possibly he’s grossed out at himself…but it feels like there’s a lot of shame and self awakening behind that door ready to come crashing down and bury him so he’s just going to keep it shut as long as possible thanks. It’s not. He doesn’t like the way she made out he was doing something wrong. What the hell. Harry’s literally 17 in a month, there’s nothing weird about them hanging out together. They’ve shared the same bed before, it wasn’t weird. He didn’t invite Harry over just so they’d share a bed for fucks sake. He’s more than welcome to go and sleep on the couch if he wants. 

By the time they’ve finished eating and watched an episode of Come Dine With Me Louis has worked himself up into a proper state and then firmly shut the door on those thoughts because he can’t deal with them while Harry is here. He suggests they go upstairs so they can play fifa or cod or something and helps Harry lug his bag up to his room. Once the door is closed and they are settled on the bed with an xbox controller each the weirdness from earlier fades away and it feels like Harry has been over at his house hundreds of times. Louis said they were just gonna play xbox but he’s not actually completely lame so he takes the vodka out it’s hiding place (the old schoolbag that lives on top of his wardrobe) and spikes the glasses of coke they’d brought up with them a little. 

They play for hours, well past the time the rest of Louis’ family go to bed. By about half two Louis is tired and playing like shit, he’s been up since before 7 because he had college all day and his eyes are starting to feel gritty with starting at the screen for so long. Harry scored the second win in a row against him and drops the controller, throwing his arms up and cheering in triumph. Louis slaps a hand over his mouth, “Shh! Everyone’s asleep!”. Harry’s eyes go wide and he looks so guilty Louis bursts out laughing and rolls away. It’s not even the vodka’s fault, they didn’t have that much. Just enough for Harry to get bright eyed and loose. 

They get themselves under control enough to turn the TV off and get ready for bed, taking turns in the bathroom and trying to be as quiet as possible but failing because teenage boys are rubbish at doing anything quietly. 

The feeling comes back a little bit when they slip into bed. The light is still on and Harry doesn’t look particularly tired. Louis is on his phone replying to messages when Harry reaches over and snatches the phone out of his hand. 

“Oi!” 

“Pay attention to me! I’m your guest and you’re being rude.” Louis uses his palm to push Harry’s face away. “God you’re such a brat” he says, forgetting completely how to be quiet and trying to push Harry off the mattress as punishment. Harry is like a little koala, using his arms and legs to cling on to Louis and keep himself on the bed, risking them both landing in a heap. Somehow he gets enough leverage to roll them over and Louis ends up pinned below him. They’re both panting, t-shirts twisted around and riding up. “I win” Harry grins, taunting him and Louis feels his stomach go tight. 

He launches himself up and this time manages to push Harry clear off the bed and he hits the floor with a heavy thump. 

“ _ Holy shit _ ” Harry laughs, rolling over but not getting up. “Shit do you think I woke your mum up?” 

Louis listens for a minute but there’s no shouting so he figures they’re fine. Or she’s mad and he’ll find out tomorrow. Either way. 

“Hope not, _jesus_ sorry are you actually okay? That were proper loud!”

“Yeah yeah, m’fine.” Harry picks himself up off the floor laughing, hair absolutely wild, and in one step almost immediately trips over an xbox controller. He nearly goes down again but catches himself on the end of the bed and Louis has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing loud enough to wake everyone up for sure. 

“Mind that controller there” he warns helpfully and Harry huffs a little sarcastic “oh ha ha.”

He makes it back to the bed without any further disaster and they curl up under the duvet with Harry’s iPod on the mattress between them. Sharing an earphone each, heads tucked in close enough to see the screen and volume turned up too loud because it’s not enough to hear it, they want to be able to feel it. They take turns, thumb on the wheel, playing song after song. Harry’s iPod storage is always full because he downloads pretty much anything he can torrent easily. Some of the stuff is from blogspots he’s found just randomly searching for new music that post rapidshare links to zip files of obscure bands he’s never heard of. Some of it is even pretty good. Louis looks shattered but he doesn’t suggest they go to sleep. They almost never get to hang out in person so it feels like a waste to spend what little time they have this weekend sleeping. 

-|-

They listen until the battery swoops dangerously low and Harry’s eyes are gritty with staring at the screen in the dark. “Here” Louis passes an earphone back to him in the dark and he has to blindly wrap the cord around the iPod and fumble it onto the chest of drawers next to the bed. 

He doesn’t know how close to sleep Louis is, tries to hold his own breath and listen in the dark but he can’t tell. He’s desperate, impatient for Louis to fall asleep first because his dick is throbbing, stiff and needy between his legs. He should probably feel weird about getting a stiffy in someone else’s bed when they are right there and they don’t know but to be honest he’s been feeling buzzed and horny this whole time. 

The whole time they’ve been listening to music he’s been picturing himself lying in Louis’ bed, stretched out next to him, laying with him. 

He’s having a moment because this is the first time for him okay, the first time that he’s in his person’s bed with them and they have this thing no one else gets. He can be open and spill his guts to Louis and he knows it will be absolutely fine. It feels overwhelming and new and addictive. He wants to bare himself, let Louis see all of him, dare him to look at the bad parts or the unfinished parts or the ugly parts. He’s not even sure he knows what he means but he can feel it radiating out of him. 

They’ve shared a bed before but Harry was  _ so _ drunk that time, the not-fun level of drunk where you feel fucking awful and you can’t sleep. This time he’s fully aware and specifically he’s in Louis’ room, Louis invited him over to spend the night. That’s something. He’s been quietly fantasising about this. Ever since he texted back to say his mum was cool with it, that he could come hang out for the weekend. Fantasies that get him hard and aching but are super vague on details because it’s actually too much for him to think about directly. He feels embarrassed with how much he wants it, even in his own thoughts. He might feel weird about it later but right now it’s too much to ignore. 

He gets this very specific version of Louis, the one that texts him at all hours about anything. He talks to Louis more than he talks to anyone else. More than he talks to his family or his mates at school. So even if the whole amateur porn fantasy is all on Harry’s side, it doesn’t really matter. He doesn’t even  _ want _ anything to happen, not really. He thinks it would probably be too much. He  _ wants, _ but he doesn’t want to deal with what would happen  _ after _ yet. It’s still a toe-curling Sunday morning lie-in fantasy. If he starts thinking about it for too long though reality will seep through and ruin in. He wants to keep the nervous horny excitement for the idea of it around as long as possible. 

-|-

He wonders if they’ll just stay in limbo like this forever.

-|-

Harry has his first time in a Malmaison. Not on purpose or anything, but as hotel chains go he feels good that it wasn’t a Travel Lodge? The only reason they are even there is because his sister won a free stay at a raffle for a charity night she went to because she’s a jammy bitch who always wins things but she wasn’t fussed for it so she let Harry wheedle her into letting him have the giftcard instead. His mum has been a lot more chill about him spending weekends out lately. It feels like since he started taking driving lessons for some reason his parents have been trusting him a lot more. He appreciates the freedom but they probably (hopefully) aren’t imaging him getting shagged in a mid-range hotel chain. 

He doesn’t like, plan it. It’s been a couple of months of A levels and UCAS applications and Harry hasn’t seen Louis or been to a gig in ages so when Louis mentions a Don Broco gig Harry jumps at the chance and convinces Gemma yes he _really_ deserves that hotel giftcard and _she isn’t even going to use it anyways she already said that so why not give it to someone who will actually use it_ and it’s less important that he isn’t really into the band because he’s just keen for the weekend with Louis without having to sleep on someone’s floor for the night or worse kill time in a skeevy 24hr McDonald’s until the trains start up again in the morning. 

When they check in and get to the room Harry drops his bag on the velvet wing-backed armchair (what is this place?) and belly-flops onto the massive king size bed. He has to put some effort into it because the mattress is so thick. The bed is decked out in piles of throw cushions, heavy black fabric drapes cover the windows and the walls are covered in huge over the top art deco flowers. He’s pretty sure his mum would call this garish, but they’re getting to stay for free and Harry is pretty stoked about it. 

“Oh class!” Louis says finding a mini-fridge hidden away underneath the TV. There’s no alcohol in the little mini-fridge which is disappointing but then Louis pulls a half full bottle of Russian Standard out of his bag so the weekend is saved after all. They order room service because they can and sit on the massive king size bed eating american style burgers stacked high with bacon and cheese and onion rings. 

After they’ve scoffed all of the food and mooched around in a bit of a food coma for a good 40 minutes Louis pulls out a bottle of coke and makes them some drinks with the little water glasses from the bathroom, shouting back to Harry as he pours.

“Put summit on will you?” 

“Do you have my iPod?” Last time they had met up they had swapped music but Louis doesn’t answer him and Harry can’t see it anywhere so he gets Louis' instead from his bag and stretches himself out on his stomach across the bed to reach the docking station and plug it in. He picks something from the band they’re seeing tonight and lets it play, turning it up as loud as he dares in the middle of the day surrounded by other guest rooms. 

It’s great, they spend an hour or so listening to music and getting buzzed before the show and then at the end of the gig they come back to the hotel, a couple of jack and cokes merrier, and get to pick up where they left off. 

“Hotel parties are great.” Harry isn't even that drunk but it sounds like a drunk thing to say, head tipped back up towards the ceiling. Louis just stretches out next to him where he’s lying flat on his back, shoulders digging into the mattress and agrees “hotel parties fucking rock”. They started drinking pretty earlier today and he doesn’t feel hammered but everything is soft and blurry and feels good. Harry kicks off his shoes and socks and sinks his toes into the carpet. He feels loose, wants to stretch out until he feels it in his muscles. 

Louis leans over the side of the bed scrolling through his ipod fussing with the tunes so Harry gets up and makes them both another drink. He only sloshes a little coke over the side of the glass. 

He makes it back to the bed successfully and scoots up the mattress to sit against the headboard, waiting patiently for Louis to lever himself up next to him before handing one of the drinks over cautiously. The drapes are still open and Harry tries to figure out if they can see the millennium bridge from the window as they sip at their drinks, Muse thumping through the room as Psycho slips into Uprising. The lamp in the corner is more for fashion than function because the room is dimly lit at best even with the curtains open but Harry kind of likes it. Everything feels a bit dreamy and the baseline is stirring something in him, a prickle runs down the inside of his arms and low in his stomach. He stretches his legs out and rolls his head towards Louis to catch him already staring at him. 

“What?” 

Louis takes a sip, mouth curved against the edge of the glass. “What what?” his voice is soft and low with tiredness. He smells familiar and also like spiced rum and syrup and Harry feels brave enough from the booze to nestle his head into Louis' neck, resting it there and curling into him. Everything is pleasant and soft around the edges but he’s restless with it. Hot and unsettled, his arms thrumming with it, hands wanting to be touching something. He stretches his fingers out and clenches them against the impulse to touch. It’s probably late enough they should be calling it a night but he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to lose how good he feels right now. Everything feels good, the velvety covers on the bed, the low light, the music pulsing loud, baseline shaking through him, Louis' shoulder under his cheek.

“Hotel parties are the best.” 

“Well don’t go getting used to it mind, have you seen how much a room is a night?” 

Harry pulls a face at that and twists a bit to look up at him. “We could go to a proper hotel next time.” 

“Oh? What’s a proper hotel likes? And what do you call this? Not a hotel?” 

“Nooo” Harry moans, annoyed. “Y’know, a proper hotel. Like in Spain or somewhere.” With a pool and a balcony and cheap foreign beer Harry thinks. He thinks about Louis in a bar at the beach in the Spanish sun, or sitting on a plastic deck chair on a balcony with the air con blasting inside the room, sliding door wide open. Tanned and a little bit sweaty, shorts and a t-shirt. Maybe not even a t-shirt. Beer in hand, tunes on in the background. 

He’s lost in his own head, on his own fantasy holiday with Louis while the real Louis next to him laughs a little, fingers coming up and catching and the back of his hair, tugging softly and pulling him out of it. “We could go on a holiday together, s’what I’m saying. Like a proper holiday.” He says only a little petulantly, like he thinks Louis is holding out on him.

“One of those lastminute.com deals eh?” Louis says, abandoning his empty glass on the bedside table. 

“Yeah, why not. A week away in the sun, would be class.” 

“Yeah, you think?” 

“Why not?” 

“Okay yeah, better start saving your pocket money then.” He smacks Harry on the hip and Harry smacks him back but doesn’t otherwise move because he’s comfortable. He snuggles into Louis’ arm but then pushes back and off the bed. Standing up and swaying a bit for a minute before he gets his balance back. He leaves his half finished drink on the side and strips his jeans off, kicking them away onto the floor. Gets back on the bed and back into his spot feeling better without his jeans in the way but still warm. 

“Should take yours off as well.” He says and Louis groans. “Yeah probably, hate falling asleep in my jeans.” Louis doesn’t bother getting up, he lies back against the mountain of pillows and undoes his fly, pushes his hips up so he can shimmy them off and drop them off the side of the bed. 

“We should get under the covers.” Harry mumbles, still not ready to go to sleep and too warm to get under a heavy blanket but wanting to feel something wrapped around him. Wanting _something_ in that kind of blurry half drunk way you can’t tell what but you are needy for it. They don’t get under the covers but most of the extra pillows are evicted from the bed to make space for them to lie down properly. They haven’t turned the lamp off but Harry is properly comfy now there’s no chance he’s getting up to do it. It’s not even annoying him really, he can live with it. 

There’s a bit more shuffling around, Louis fumbling with the ipod to turn it down a bit and then getting himself comfy, warm and solid where he’s pressing up next to him. Harry’s still restless, turns on his side towards Louis and tips his head against Louis' shoulder, fingers tapping along to the music against his chest. Louis makes a little noise and then curves in towards him a little, ankles and knees knocking. 

Harry feels full up with this hot bubbly feeling fizzing through him. Feel like it might spill out of him if he opens his mouth too wide, like he might burst with it. 

“It was a good night.” He whispers and Louis hums again, his arm sliding down behind Harry and that’s exactly what he wants, to be touched. His palm is firm and warm running down Harry’s back and then back up towards his shoulder blade. Down again and back up.“Yeah it was a good show.” Harry doesn’t even remember the show. He can’t think past the delicious little shivers from Louis rubbing his back, presses into it a little. Louis keeps touching him. A slow back and forth of his hand.

After a little while Harry wriggles a little, tucks himself in closer with his head lying on Louis' chest. Louis' arm wrapped around him, anchoring him in close. Louis' other hand is resting on his stomach but he reaches up and grabs Harry’s hand from his chest, folds his fingers over Harry’s.

“You okay?” his voice is low and a little bit tight, like he also might be brimming with some kind of energy like Harry is. 

“Yeah.” His mouth moves against the fabric of Louis' t-shirt, he rubs his cheek into it and Louis rubs his hand up and down his arm, squeezing him in tight for a minute. 

They didn’t turn the lamp off, so Harry can see where Louis' dick is a thick obvious ridge in his underwear, starting to push the material out. Maybe he shouldn’t be looking but he noticed and he is so. He knocks his knee into Louis' leg, slides his leg over Louis' and feels the hair on their calves rub a little. 

He’s sweeping his thumb calmly over the back of Harry’s knuckles, but his grip is tight and sweaty. Harry presses himself in as close as he can, presses his face against Louis' chest and rolls his forehead against him a bit. Presses their legs even tighter together. His chest is burning like he’s forgotten to breath. 

“God you’re getting proper hard.” 

Louis chokes out an awkward sound but his dick jumps a little. He’s hard enough that it’s properly filling out, pushing up from between his thighs. He doesn’t remember moving but Harry’s hand ends up on Louis' leg, squeezing the meat of his thigh as he watches his dick bob and stiffen up further. 

He has to press his face into Louis' t-shirt again. “Fuck Lou.” He wants to grind his hips forward into Louis' leg, feels a hot wave of need that slams through him.

His dick is obscene, jutting out and jerking up against the material of his underwear. The material is stretched thin around him, the head of his cock clearly defined.

“Are you all the way hard?” 

“Yeah pretty much” 

Harry wants to touch  _ so bad. _

“Can I…?” 

“Yeah Harry just.” Louis' hand is virtually crushing his, pinning it to his chest but Harry pulls himself free so he can pull Louis' underwear over the head of his cock and down a bit. 

Louis is panting a little, chest rising and falling in sharp little bursts. 

It’s warm when Harry wraps his hand around it, feels the veins pulsing against his palm. Louis sucks in a breath and Harry moves his hand, a slow drag pushing his foreskin up and then back down, cock head smooth and red, straining up towards them. Harry isn’t sure if he’s holding him too tight or not tight enough, he wants it to be good, he wants to be good at this. He fists him root to tip and back again, feels the brush of his pubes every time his hand reaches the base.

He gets into a better position, moving so he can reach better. Louis isn’t touching him any more, one hand pressed flat to his stomach, the other clawed into the mattress. Feeling a little outside of his body Harry leans forward and kisses his stomach through the material of his t-shirt, Louis' hand comes up to cup the back of his neck, he can feel him shaking. 

Once he’s thought about it, it doesn’t take much to get himself to move down, to get himself in between Louis' thighs. He presses his mouth unsteadily to Louis' hip then he pulls the waistband of his shorts down so he can kiss the skin under there as well, tugs them down as far as he can with Louis lying on them. His dick is right there, he can smell him, see his pubes trimmed close to his body. It looks so neat, much neater than Harry probably looks.

Harry holds his dick upright, away from his stomach so he can lean in and mouth at the big vein running up the underside. Actually gets his mouth on it. Louis' hand tightens on the back of his neck and he hisses out a rough breath. He isn’t ready to put it  _ in  _ his mouth yet but he takes his time using his tongue and his lips to press wet sucking kisses up the length of the shaft, feeling bolder as he goes and as Louis gets tenser and tenser below him. 

He wants it to be wetter. Using his tongue as much as he can he works his way upwards, using as much spit as he can. Like obviously you are supposed to just put it  _ in _ your mouth, but what he’s doing seems to be working or at least Louis isn’t pulling him away. He’s not entirely sure how to get the whole thing in his mouth, how does the teeth part work? 

Pulling back a little he resettles in the space between Louis' legs, fully invested in his task. He licks the length of his own hand a couple of times to get it as wet as he can and wraps it back around, feeling the slide when he starts pumping his shaft again. Louis drops his head from where he’s been watching, tips back into the pillows and hisses out a breathy  _ fuck, _ hips arching up into Harry’s grip. 

Watching his own hand Harry is transfixed on the head of Louis' cock, watching it peek out red and smooth and shiny on every down stroke. He stills his hand at the base where he can point his dick upwards and lean in to fit his mouth around the whole head and suck. He flattens his tongue over the tip as he sucks, lips sealed around him and hand coming up to grip below the head. A tangy saltiness blooms on his tongue and he reflexively sucks harder to draw more out. He swallows without pulling back and presses down, taking in a little more until his lips hit his fist. He pulls back and goes down again. The rhythm comes to him easily, he bobs his head eagerly slurping loudly, emboldened by the unmistakable sound of sucking dick and desperate for it. He keeps going, taking in as much as he can, pulling back only as far as to lick and suck at the head before sinking right down again, further each time. The skin is soft and smooth, there’s a taste of salt and warm skin and his mouth is stretched wide. He isn’t taking the whole thing in, using his hand to make up for it when he remembers but mostly focused on the thickness filling his mouth and forcing him to breath out of his nose. 

He  _ likes _ it, he’s sucking cock and he fucking loves it. There’s a thrill goes through him, that he can do this, can push Louis to the edge with his mouth and his hand. That he’s getting him off. Every time Louis' dick pulses he feels it under his hand, moans around him in response. A desperate little feedback loop. Everything is wet and sloppy and so hard. Louis' whole body is drawn up tight below him, he’s not pushing into Harry’s mouth or pulling him down on his cock but the hand wrapped around the back of his neck is squeezing tight and at one point he actually pulls Harry back off his dick completely. 

“Fuck,” he’s panting, one arm up over his eyes, “fuck just give me a minute” his legs are tensing against the sheets, thigh muscles jumping. Oh god Harry is so fucking turned on, more than just the normal way, his whole body is vibrating and his skin is crawling with goosebumps. He wants to get his hand on his dick but he wants more than that as well. He wants to rub up against Louis so hard they melt into each other. He feels a bit crazy with want, not sure his thoughts are even making sense. 

“Fuck you’re gonna make me come”

“Yeah m’gonna make you come”

“Oh fuck c’mere, just c’mup here a minute” 

Louis gets him pressed down on his back and leans over him, fitting their mouths together and licking into him, tongues catching hot and needy. Harry can barely catch his breath. He probably tastes like  _ Louis, _ sweat and salt and skin. He presses up into it, one leg hooked around Louis' to keep him close. His whole body feels like it’s vibrating, feels like he’s going to shake out of his skin. He’s a little bit dazed, maybe from the lack of air, but when Louis pulls back and gets their underwear and Harry's t-shirt off he isn’t really following what's going on but then Louis comes back pressing the length of them together head to foot and there’s nothing but sweat-slick skin against his and Harry loses his mind a little with it, static fills his head. 

He wraps his leg up around Louis' thigh and grinds up into him, his face flaming hot buried in Louis' neck as he presses desperate kisses against his neck over and over, needing and not knowing quite how to get there. Louis' hands are all over him, rolling onto his side with Harry pressed along the length of him, palm spread out wide on his naked back, running up the back of his leg where it tickles, grabbing his arse cheeks and pulling him in tighter. Harry’s never had anyone's hands on his arse before, he can’t help pushing back into it, a little shocked when Louis grabs at him with both hands, pulling his cheeks apart slightly. He’s never felt this kind of exposed, never had someone with their hands on that part of him, a part of him even he doesn’t touch. Louis fingers his crack, slipping down over his hole and finding the soft stretch of skin behind his balls. He rubs there, lifting Harry’s leg higher so he has more room. 

It’s so fucking good, Harry can’t even hear beyond the blood rushing in his ears. He’s probably going to come and he doesn’t even care he just  _ wants. _ Wants Louis to get him there with his hands on him like that. He’s got his arms wrapped around Louis' shoulders, clinging a little and alternately grinding his hips forward into him and back into his hand. They’re coated in sweat, slipping against each other as they scramble to get a better grip, more leverage, the angle that works just right. 

He’s rolled over and he goes easy, pulling Louis over on top of him. He wants to be covered, wants Louis to hold him down and move against him, wants Louis to fall apart with him. 

-|-

Later, when everything is still and quiet and heartbeats are slow again. When the light is starting to cut through the sky outside reminding them uncomfortably that it’s not night any more, there are not enough hours between now and check out, the world feels like it has rearranged itself around them. Everything looks the same but it feels different because Louis has shared orgasms with a boy. Harry shifts around and pushes him to the edge of the bed. 

“Sorry the sheets are, like, wet.” he says with a little grumpy frown. Louis swallows back a laugh because yeah obviously there's a wet patch, they just had sex on them.

They’ll probably manage to get a couple of hours sleep before they have to get up and sort themselves out. Louis isn’t even sure he sleeps at all, just lies there and drifts, head filled up with too many things to relax properly. With the knowledge that he doesn’t know everything about himself yet. With the fundamental realisation that maybe he’s not going to be who he always thought he was going to end up being. It’s a little unsettling, but also there’s a bone-deep contentment radiating through him, travelling down his arm and up through his fingers where they’re carding through Harry’s hair. 

Louis mightn’t know everything about himself, but he’s starting to figure out that it’s up to him, that he gets to choose. He didn’t quite realise that before somehow. 

-|-

The mortifying ordeal of doing your first ever walk of shame. 

Harry thought a walk of shame was Geordie Shore type birds walking home at 7am in just their mini dresses, barefoot with their high heels in their hand. Everyone judging them. It’s not like that except it kind of is a bit. They check out a little bit late but the receptionist doesn’t say anything, barely glances at them before confirming the balance is clear and offering them a cheerful goodbye and moving onto the next in line. 

They stumble out of the hotel, bleary with tiredness and absolutely starving. End up hitting up a Subway at the train station while they are waiting on their trains. When they are walking it feels like everyone who looks at them can just  _ see, _ can tell by the rumbled clothes and the state of their hair (because they slept in too late to even shower) that they stayed up all night having sex. Louis takes his hand at one point, fingers linked together while they walk like it isn’t anything. Like maybe they just do that now and Harry doesn’t even know, do they? He guesses they do. It’s nice and Harry wishes he could enjoy it but he’s caught between not wanting Louis to go and feeling so raw and flayed open that he desperately needs to be alone for a while. 

Louis' train comes first and they stand on the platform, a goodbye hug that goes on way too long and might have verged into clinging but Harry won’t admit it. They don’t kiss but Harry feels Louis' nose press into him where he’s pressing his face into Harry’s neck, offering a rough “bye, text me” before he lets go and gets onto the train. 

Waiting for the train listening to headphones and playing last night (and this morning) on loop in his thoughts like a film reel. The part where Louis kissed the inside of his knees. He’s never thought about someone touching that part of him and he can’t get over the bit where Louis was lying between his legs in the dark, mouth against the bend of his knee. Harry had reached down and put his hand in Louis’ hair. Threading his fingers through and just…holding him there. Not pulling him in any further, just keeping him there between his legs because he was so overwhelmed. It’s the single most erotic experience Harry has ever had. He feels like his thoughts have been redefined, like if he looked in the mirror he would see himself differently. 

He turns the volume up on his ipod and tips the head towards the train window, burrows deeper into his hood watching Manchester speed past. He thinks about lying on Louis' chest after and running his hand over the hair there. Both of them lying together on damp sheets as the sweat cooled, curled into to one another, legs slotted, cocks soft and heartbeats slowing. Hands running through sweaty hair, palms stroking over soft hips and running up and down his naked back. Lots of people have stroked his back before, but when you’re both naked it feels more…something. He didn’t realise the expanse of skin on his back. Didn’t know what it felt like to be touched there, how the shiver would run up the back of his neck and into his scalp, curl around his ribs and make him want it again. He doesn’t have the words yet for how he feels right now. 

He’s not used to not telling his family everything that happens to him. Even the things he doesn’t tell his mum he usually tells his sister at least, she’s probably his best friend outside of Louis and he always wants to tell her everything. He wasn’t prepared for having something that he wants to keep a secret suddenly. He wants to keep it for himself, keep the memories how they are, not ruin them by telling them to someone else who will make it into a whole other big deal. 

He feels like he’s seen a different side of himself, one that he can’t unknow now. Has seen the ways his body can move against someone else’s, he’s watched someone else come apart. Watched them slack and unguarded in their sleep. Seen in the morning as Louis, half awake and barely functioning, stumbled around the room naked  mumbling  _ where’s me keks _ to himself sounding for all the world like someone’s grandma. 

He feels like he’s different now, wants to go home and write in his journal about it so he can figure it out. But mostly it just feels like an inevitable step, like something he was always going to do. 

**Author's Note:**

> keks = pants (underwear) a la my northern granny you are welcome


End file.
